


I've Never Said This Before (But I've Never Been So Sure)

by overratedantihero



Series: White Picket Fence, I'll Put A Rock On Your Finger [3]
Category: Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Banter, Domestic, Domestic Fantasy, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Married Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-22 02:10:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17051090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/overratedantihero/pseuds/overratedantihero
Summary: Dick's finally falling into step with his marriage of convenience when he accidentally acquires a baby on an otherwise uneventful patrol.





	I've Never Said This Before (But I've Never Been So Sure)

**Author's Note:**

> "Dick and Slade Are Married"-verse continues with a brief baby. It was obligatory.

Dick could never visualize himself a husband. He’d been a fiancé, twice. But never a husband. Nevertheless, when he shuffled, half dressed, outside of the bedroom in their shared home to find Slade reading his tablet with a coffee mug balanced on the knee of his crossed leg, Dick very much felt married.

“Good morning,” Dick announced, passing Slade to go into the kitchen and fetch his own breakfast. Slade grunted a greeting.

The gleaming, granite countertops were bare but for a basket of fruit. Dick opened the refrigerator and saw bread, eggs, plain yogurt, and milk. Dick took the milk and set it aside on the countertop and scoured the cabinets for any sign of cereal.

He was on the fourth cabinet when Slade walked in to rinse his mug.

“If you want cereal, you need to eat fruit or an egg first,” Slade said, putting the mug into the dishwasher.

“Why’s that in the dishwasher, it’s clean,” Dick muttered. Slade cocked his eyebrows.

“No, it’s rinsed. It’s in the dishwasher to be washed.” Slade opened a drawer and pulled out a small knife. Dick wasn’t sure why someone would need such a small knife, nor did he understand the white blade. “Pick a fruit.”

“You’re a tyrant,” Dick balked. “Where’s the cereal, Slade?”

Slade picked up an apple and sliced into it with the tiny, white knife. He then nodded in the direction of the fruit basket. “I’d recommend a banana. It’s nutritionally ideal. For your level of activity, you’d need to include something else to make it a meal, preferably a bagel or yogurt. And then, perhaps, some cereal.”

Dick hopped onto the counter behind him before crossing his arms. “Ultimatums don’t make for a happy marriage, Slade,” he warned.

Slade cut a chunk from the apple, stabbed it with the knife, and held it out to Dick. “Eat.”

Dick crinkled his nose. “I’m not eating off your tiny knife,” Dick retorted. Slade blinked.

“It’s a ceramic paring knife,” Slade insisted. Dick blinked back, and Slade sighed. He pulled the chunk from the knife and held it out to Dick. Dick glared at the apple chunk.

“It’s honey crisp,” Slade said. “It tastes like sugar. Take it.”

With that promise, Dick took the apple chunk and popped it in his mouth. Slade was right, it was pleasantly sweet and crunched nicely.

“Cereal?” Dick asked, hopefully, mouth still full of apple.

“This is my punishment for robbing cradles,” Slade muttered as he reached down, opened a bottom cabinet, and removed a box of cereal. He handed the box to Dick, but Dick was crestfallen.

“This isn’t cereal, this is granola,” Dick insisted. “You _lied_ to me. This marriage is built on _lies_.”

“This marriage is built on mutually assured destruction,” Slade deadpanned, placing the apple on the counter. Then, he returned to the sink and rinsed the knife, wiping it down with soap and a sponge before he dried and returned it to the drawer. Dick huffed.

“Why didn’t that one go into the dishwasher?” he asked, setting the fake cereal aside in favor of snatching the sweet apple from the counter. He bit into it, loudly.

Slade dried his hands and turned to face Dick. “It’s a knife. It’s handwashed. I’m going to buy you an audiobook on homemaking.”

Dick swallowed the apple in his mouth and smirked. “That’s hot. Gonna get me an apron too?”

With a chuff, Slade pushed away from the sink and plucked the apple from Dick’s hand so that he could lean down and press a kiss to Dick’s lips. “I’m going to work. Behave yourself. Eat some toast,” Slade murmured, biting from the apple, and leaving with it in tow.

Dick watched Slade saunter from the room with a tipsy grin. Until realization struck and he scrambled from the kitchen, calling, “Slade! Slade, what do you mean work?”

* * *

 

That night, Dick chose to patrol Bludhaven, to avoid Bruce and his siblings. He regretted the decision while on the third hour of an impromptu stakeout at the former warehouse of since-caught traffickers. The warehouse had been emptied for months, but while passing by, Dick noticed movement, and so he stayed, watching and waiting for any activity that may warrant intervention.

He was just about to brush the night aside as wasted on some rowdy teenagers when there was a flurry. Three men, in black hoodies pulled low over their faces, arrived at the warehouse, rapping on the door in a distinct pattern. One of the men carried what appeared to be a baby carrier.

Dick presumed it was part of some ruse, up until he heard the pitched cry of an infant, just before the men disappeared into the unit.

From there, he descended on reflex.

The scene on which he arrived was confusing. Five men, one infant. No drugs, no weapons, no other victims. Five men who, rather than flee at the sight of Nightwing as would have been appropriate, fought and attempted a stand, attempted to escape with the child. They didn’t get very far. When Dick finished securing them, he hesitated.

Maybe he’d misunderstood. Maybe one, or some, of the men were the baby’s parents. One of the men spit at Nightwing, interrupting Dick’s doubt.

“You’ve no fucking idea how much that thing’s worth! It’s not even fucking human, man. It’s a goddamn meta. This is fucked!”

Dick frowned. So, he wasn’t wrong, or, if he was, he was at least right that the child needed securing. Metahuman traffickers weren’t uncommon, Dick had encountered them before.

“Who are the parents? Where did you find the baby?” Dick barked. The man opened his mouth, but another groaned.

“C’mon, man, shut up! We ain’t even had our Miranda rights read and you’re over here running your mouth. He’s already called the cops, just shut the hell up, man!”

The first man closed his mouth, but a third muttered, “Gonna piss Darrell off when he finds out about this.”

“Darrell?” Dick asked, perking up at the potential lead.

“Our lawyer,” the second man snapped. “Yeah. That’s right. We got a lawyer, we’ve had enough of this vigilante shit. It ain’t admissible. Bet you didn’t think we knew that, did you? Hoping we’re ignorant and gonna incriminate ourselves?”

Dick was dramatically losing control of the room, and the baby had begun to cry again. He needed to move it to a secure location while he searched for its parents. He needed to find a name for it too, so he could stop calling it an it.

If he left with the baby, none of the men would be arrested for the kidnapping. Dick would have to rely on priors for their arrest, or he’d have to return and keep an eye on them himself, at least until they slipped up again. But if Dick and the baby stayed, the baby would go into police custody. Dick was too familiar with Bludhaven social services to allow that, especially if the baby was meta as the men claimed.

“Alright, boys, I’ll leave you and Darrell to it,” Dick grinned for show, scooping up the carrier and saluting them. “Say hello to the boys in blue for me, yeah?” He shot a grapple, but then looked down at his newfound cargo. A round, red, tear-streaked face wailed back at him. Dick cursed himself and abandoned his suave exit to walk out the front door.

When he arrived back at his and Slade’s house, Slade was still out. The baby was sniffling, and Dick’s nerves were shot. He’d managed to at least make a stop and purchase a few essentials, per an internet checklist for new moms. Diapers, formula, bottles, rags, pacifiers, blankets, and a baby wrap.

The woman at the counter didn’t so much as blink. Discrete, graveyard shift cashiers were Dick’s favorite.

Afterwards, he considered going to Alfred. But he couldn’t manage the Manor, not yet, and he wasn’t sure if Bruce would allow him to leave once he entered. And so, Dick chose his blissfully empty home and rocked the baby and spoke to the baby and fed the baby, until the baby’s cries settled down into soft sniffles.

“Sh,” Dick murmured, carefully laying the baby out on the bed, on a spread blanket. He followed the online tutorial to a tee, but nevertheless he swaddled the baby twice more before he was content with the quality. “See? That’s not so bad, is it?” Dick cooed. The baby looked up at him through tear heavy lashes with what Dick swore was derision.

“Yeah,” Dick muttered, “I know. But you didn’t have to say it.”

He and Slade didn’t keep a cradle, no matter Slade’s quips, and so Dick carefully laid out on the bed next the infant. He hadn’t bothered to shower, too worried about leaving the baby alone. Dick fell asleep like that, in his suit and calcified sweat, as soon as the baby’s eyes had closed.

But when Dick woke up, the baby wasn’t beside him. He jerked up, a shout on his lips.

“Sh, kid, settle,” Slade cooed from where he stood, still in uniform, the baby cradled in his arms. Dick watched as Slade swayed with the baby, occasionally shushing the cooing child, all while the baby shoved the strings of Slade’s mask in its mouth.

“That’s hot,” Dick whispered through a smirk. And he meant it. Something about Slade so tender, even if Slade was masked, stirred a latent want buried deep in Dick’s gut. “Careful, don’t let her choke on the strings.”

“She won’t,” Slade murmured, although he tugged the mask off and pulled it away from the baby all the same. She whined, but he promptly offered her a pacifier instead. Soothed, she quieted back down. “You did good, kid. For someone who didn’t know what a paring knife was. You forgot talcum powder. And I have no idea what that is.” Slade gestured to the baby wrap.

Dick shook his head. “Baby powder isn’t any good, I looked it up. It’s bad for lungs and, like, ovaries. Maybe. And that’s a baby wrap. All of the best soccer moms have them.”

Slade’s mouth twisted into a frown, but he didn’t look up from the baby. “We used powder on the boys,” he protested, voice never rising above a whisper. Dick bit back any unwelcome commentary about Slade’s age or parenting.

“Maybe ovaries,” Dick gently reminded him. “Want to help me find her parents tomorrow?”

“Parents?” Slade asked, glancing up at Dick with a wicked smirk. “I thought this was the new Robin.”

Dick made a terribly guttural noise as he swallowed his, “Slade!” into something quieter than a shout. Slade’s attention had already drifted back to the baby, although his smirk hadn’t disappeared.

“Go shower, kid. I’ve got this one.”

Dick hesitated, but then Slade began humming at the baby and Dick nearly melted.

“Yeah. Okay,” Dick said, standing, stretching, and shuffling towards the bathroom. He paused, glanced back at Slade one more time. Tomorrow, they’d find the baby’s parents and return her. Tomorrow, Dick would likely discover why Slade returned in a mask.

But, for now, Dick watched Slade cradle a baby in their shared bedroom as if catching a glimpse through the multiverse at a reality since folded back into the speedforce.

“Kid,” Slade reminded him.

Dick ducked into the bathroom.


End file.
